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An Urgent Plea! Posted on 09/09/2010 12:00 AM   |  EMail to Friend   |  View Comments (6)

Where do I start? I love my land and I want it to have years and years of prosperity but I just see more wounds develop each day. If it is not the news of disease in the camps, then it is the news of the persecution of Christians in the camps. If not the news of the camps then a bomb in the cities or a suicide bomber. I speak to you not only from a flood ravaged land. I speak to you from this side of a flood of tears. The Church is at risk. Christians are vulnerable and this land is suffering. Please spread the word wherever you are my friends. There is no Christian injunction or teaching to burn the Muslim Holy Book, the Koran. We as Christians are not called to do that. If you do that my friends, every Church in the Muslim world will become the target of angry mobs and violence. Every little Church in the country had an armed contingent at the main gate and all kinds of security because there is a fear that if someone will burn a copy of the Koran in the US, they will kill us, they will go mad. Please spread the word. This is not the way to stop the spread of Islam. Love them. I have heard it said ISLAM says I sincerely Love All Muslims. I am asking you my friends to stop and listen. To stop and pray. Do not burn a Koran anywhere. It is a book, whether we believe in it or not, to which millions of people are attached. A book that bears the story of Jesus' virgin birth. A story that has led so many on a journey to find that Jesus. Why make millions of people hate us when we can show them the undeniable love of Jesus in our lives. There must be something wrong with what our lives are showing if we need to burn a Koran to make a point. Should not my life make a difference? Lord begin making an impact through my life. Lord begin with this blog. Lord hear my prayer.

The Lord brought their tears to me! Posted on 09/08/2010 12:00 AM   |  EMail to Friend   |  View Comments (4)

I tossed and turned all night. The rain in the afternoon did not bring with it fear of another flood. The rain this afternoon, rushed, torrential and monsoon in every sense held no romance today. The smell of earth did not rush to my head and the sound of rustling leaves was drowned by the weeping of my brothers and sisters. Although I was alone in the porch watching the sky darken and feeling the air around me close and suffocate me, I felt sister after sister placing her head on my shoulder and brother after brother was reaching out with his eyes saying, ‘Pray for us’. There in camps where they receive nothing but a dirty sheet, dirty water and food full of worms and fur, my brothers and sisters weep day and night. The Lord has loaded their tears on the wind and brought them to me. The rain that touched my face no longer cooled it and released the suffocation around me. My body was hot with emotion, an anger rose somewhere inside me and the rain did nothing to cool it. Then from the midst of the sound of weeping and the voices of people calling for prayer and asking for a rainbow, the sound of one brother spoke to me loud and clear ‘Please pray I can be like Jesus and forgive them for they know not what they do’. The tears did not cool me but his voice did. Who is this brother God? Is this the voice of many. My friends there are many things I cannot tell you. But of all the voices and tears that come our way and all the stories carried on the winds of story telling, I tell you the voice of this brother was strongest. A desire to forgive the injustice that Christians in flood relief camps are facing. Some sisters have raised beds and covered them with a sheet and leaves to make a camp, others have found shelter by a wall that threatens to come down as the dampness crumbles it some more every day. Another brother has no shelter but he seeks refuge in the pews of the church praying to God for a new job. His shop was washed away in the flood and he needs to buy milk for his mother and does not want to be dependent on the Muslims for relief that they do not intend to share anyway. His sister has no scarf to cover her head and the Muslim men stare at her. She thought she was only safe in the Church but so many people seek refuge in the corridors and porch of the Church building. Their tears soaked the white cotton of my Kurta (Long loose top) as the torrent of their emotion lashed at my garden and brought down the beautiful pink flowers from the bougainvillea. My friends, where our brothers and sisters are in Camps, separated from Muslims and from aid, there is no bougainvillea. There is no green grass. There is just disease and ill health. The monsoon wind came laden with their tears. My friends, let us pray for a wind of change to blow their way, to freshen the air and cleanse the filth around them, to help them forgive the Muslims who refuse them aid, to help them show them love. More importantly pray for them that at this time they would find comfort and guidance in the word of God and reach out and minister to one another. Pray for the Church’s ministry in these days. A Church being watched and inhibited in every way possible- a Church longing to reach out to her people but afraid of attracting the attention of those who seek to hurt her- a Church seeking a moment when she can spread her wings and gather up ‘the least of these’ and protect the Groom’s own.

Have Mercy Lord Posted on 09/04/2010 12:00 AM   |  EMail to Friend   |  View Comments (7)

The disaster and trauma in this land had hardly left room for more. We did not think more damage could come to this land. We did not think more harm could come to the people of a nation already in mourning. But it has. Not an act of God, not a natural disaster but an act of human beings who could not have hit any lower. Another act of terror and violence. As I drove home from the Church Flood Initiative Evening I received a call from my aunt asking where I was. She had seen the news and knowing I would be at church wanted to know if I wanted to stop by her home. Terror in Lahore, but in the streets of my city, a city of a rather high Shi'it population, the police panicked in case we would have similar attacks. There was no where for me to go. I was stuck in a traffic jam and could only wait to get out of the traffic and see what God had in store for me. As I hung up after assuring my aunt I was safe, sparks flew in front of me. My first thought was 'Lord if this be your will then I am ready to be with you.' It looked awfully like a fire starting in the midst of popping and banging sounds. But it was not a bomb. A motorbike on the road in front of me was hit by an angry driver annoyed at the traffic at Iftar time. Iftar is the time of the evening when Muslims are released from their day-long fast during Ramadhan. He was so mad he hit the biker and drove away. The poor man's bike hit the ground and slid across it several times sending off sparks and explosions and sending the entire road into panic. I have never thought of my reaction if I will be in an explosion but I hope I will act in such grace if it were to happen. Pakistan is in crisis. I dare not say what is on my heart. I dare not express my true sentiments for the land I love. But I fear. I do fear. I ache and I weep before the Lord. Have mercy Lord. Have mercy Lord. Have mercy Lord. Save my people Lord. This is the only pray I can bring to the Father. All else fails me as I dissolve into tears.